


Two Times the Friendship Went Deep

by Goodneighbor_Neighbor (Fan_by_Proxy)



Series: Commonwealth Canons (Yvette) [2]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Near Death Experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24211873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fan_by_Proxy/pseuds/Goodneighbor_Neighbor
Summary: A pair of scenes from early on in Sole and Hancock's relationship that touched them each deeper than they could say at the time...or even now.
Relationships: John Hancock & Female Sole Survivor, John Hancock/Female Sole Survivor
Series: Commonwealth Canons (Yvette) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1737616
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	1. The Coat

“A fucking _bear_?!” Yvette managed to squawk before Hancock shoved her out of the way and took the brunt of several hundred pounds of Yao Guai to the chest. He and the roaring beast tumbled down the hill, with Hancock emptying his clip and getting in a few sticks for good measure. When the world finally stopped spinning, and the bear stopped biting, Hancock thought he’d landed in a puddle. He could hear Yvette overhead swearing like a fiend and lots of gunfire, but it had a faded sound like the start of a Jet-rush. The bear, mercifully, was not lying on top of him, which was both a comfort and gave him a chance to see it had a little collar. “Your masters are _assholes_.” Hancock groaned; pain had _finally_ started kicking in which was both good and bad, because it meant he wasn’t dead but it also meant he wasn’t dead.

The last Raider went down without the top of their head, and Yvette threw one last _couillon!_ to the wind before skidding down the embankment after Hancock. “ _Jean_!” The bear was dead, at least, she realized with relief.

Hancock managed to raise his hand a little. “Got a mouth like a French sailor.” he teased, then groaned.

Yvette’s hand went to her mouth. Hancock was pale, lying in a pool of his own blood and it was clear that the bear’s claws had prized a decent chunk out of his side. His breathing was raspy and he wasn’t moving much beyond the little wave.

“Med-X before the stimpack, this shit _hurts_.” he said.

She practically ripped her pack apart to get at the medicine, hesitating with the Med-X in her hand. “ _Jean_ , I--”

It was nice she was worried, but _Christ_ he felt like shit. “Start with half a dose then, beautiful. Half a pop, then stimpack, if you’re that worried.” Things were going fuzzy at the edges of his vision; it was kind of cute that she worried but by this point she should _know_ he was a regular chem afficionado--a vial of Med-X even with the blood loss probably wouldn’t _kill_ him.

“Ok, ok--a little prick,” Yvette tried to do it gently, but the skin on his neck refused to yield. “I am sorry.” she whispered, pulling back and punching his neck with the needle.

Hancock coughed. “Gotta work on your sense of ‘little’.” He sighed as the cold of a good numb started washing over him. “That’s fucking better.”

“Just hold on _Jean_ , please.” Yvette murmured, feeling much more confident with the stimpacks. She had to push back his coat and peel back the bloody, turn shirt to find the surest edge of the wound for the stimpack to go in. The closer to the damage, the faster it went to work, she had learned in just the short time she had come to live in the Commonwealth. He didn’t respond, and the pulse that she could feel as she pressed her fingers to his neck was weak. “Hold on. _Hold on_.” Yvette looked around, organizing her thoughts: she had extra clothes, she would use them for bandages. There was more medicine in her pack. All she had to do was see a safe place and then move the full-grown man into it. Fortunately, the adrenaline was still thundering through her, and her panic a _fantastic_ motivator.

Hancock was adrift in a sea of alternating flashes of hot pain and the soothing coldness of chems. Occasionally something wet would pass through his lips to pool in his mouth, and for a while it hurt like hell to swallow. But above the sound of blood in his ears, he could hear a gentle purr that reminded him of the cat that used to hang around the Dugout. A mangy ratter the old owner called Snot; it was about as wild as a cat could get with most people. But if you were quiet, and calm, and weren’t stingy about sharing a noodle bowl, it would hop up in your lap and be just as sweet as a regular house cat. Sometimes, when it was a not-so-great trip, Hancock thought about that old ratter with the bald spot on its head and how it would hunker down on his lap and just purr away.

Why was he thinking about that? Maybe it was the purr and the weight on his stomach, even as Hancock eventually realized he was camped out on his back. He drifted a little while longer, coming back to himself in bits and pieces. When the water--and it was water that was being gently tipped into his mouth--tasted like water, Hancock realized he was _actually_ alive. He opened his eyes to see a dusty, peeling ceiling and a cloud of dust motes dancing in the light. Hancock took a deep breath, feeling a stitch in his side but a considerably lot less pain. He swallowed, feeling the grain and click in his throat.

Slowly and carefully, Hancock turned his head to try and get a better sense of surrounding. The light was coming from an old camp lantern sitting on a coffee table, putting everything in a wash of eerie blues and grays. And sitting just on the other side of that, arms folded and chin to her chest, sat a dozing Yvette. The Vaulter looked grimy as hell and he could see the canon on her lap. Hancock licked his lips, even though it was pointless. “Hey--hey ‘Vette.” he croaked.

Yvette startled, hand on the revolver and pointing it at the door when she heard the noise.

Hancock started to laugh, losing it in a cough and pressing his hands to his stomach. “Easy, beautiful.” he managed to get out.

She huffed, chair creaking as she launched herself out of it and stepped over the coffee table to reach him. Yvette sat down on it, reaching for him.

The worry on her face made her look a hundred years old, Hancock thought dimly as he let her pull up his shirt and lay gentle hands on his skin. She twisted away to grab the camp lantern and bring it closer. “Pretty much back in one piece.” he managed to get out. Mostly; a couple of words got stuck in his dry throat.

“We have water.” Yvette replied, setting down the lantern and getting up again. The cabin they’d taken shelter in--that she had forced their way in--had a shop sink that still ran. It was clean enough, cleaner than what had come out of the rain barrel behind the place. She grabbed a coffee cup out of the bottom of the sink and rinsed it, then filled it and brought it to him.

Hancock took it and started to protest as she slid her hand behind his head to try and help him drink. “’Vette, I can manage.” He said, passing the cup back so he could very carefully sit himself up on the squealing single bed he’d apparently been recuperating on.

“It has been touch-to-go for some time.” Yvette replied apologetically, passing him the cup and unable to keep herself from cupping his hands to make _sure_ he had a grip on it.

“Touch- _and-_ go, ‘Vette.” Hancock corrected as he took a sip. “Could use some bourbon.” he gave her a grin.

Yvette was _not_ amused; she was tired and sore and still afraid something was going to split open and put an end to _Jean_ Hancock. “Take it up with the next trader we meet. All of the alcohol is gone.” she said.

He frowned. “What, _why_?” It was then Hancock realized he wasn’t covered in blood or even in his clothes; just a t-shirt and boxers. “…where are my clothes?” he downed the rest of the water and thrust the mug back at her. “And did I miss something fun?”

She rolled her eyes. “Clearly you _do_ feel better.” Yvette shook her head, getting up to refill the mug. “You were…there was a lot of dirt, and blood. So after you stopped leaking, I changed your clothes.”

He couldn’t see it, but from the way her voice slowed down and she wouldn’t meet his eyes, Hancock could tell she was blushing. “I’m not embarrassed if you’re not.” he joked.

Yvette sighed. “There was a lot of dirt, and blood.” she repeated.

“Hey, I believe you.” Hancock took a small sip. His mouth and throat were feeling a lot less dry now. “A fucking attack bear.” he shook his head.

“I hate Raiders.” Yvette rubbed her temples. “Do you think you might want to eat?”

Hancock took another quiet sip, watching her face. She was watching him, tense as a junkie about to get handed a fix. “You gotta relax. See me drinking? Talking? Sitting up? It’s ok, ‘Vette. I feel like shit but I’m alive shit.” he said.

“And I am glad for it, you do not know.” Yvette replied frankly.

Hancock took a big swallow, forcing it down and doing his best to stifle any coughing. Coughing hurt _and_ it’d probably scare the shit out of her. “You’d think I owed you money.” he joked. “I could use a bite.” he added, just to soothe her.

Yvette nodded, getting up to pull a lidded cooking pan out from under the coffee table and a little camp stove. “It will take a few minutes to be warm.” She explained.

He watched her fiddle with the camp stove, tucking a wad of paper into it and holding her hair back from her face to blow on the line to feed it a little air so it would catch. Once it flared to life, she set the pan on top and leaned over to where he’d first seen her sitting to drag her pack over and pull out a wooden spoon and another mug. Hancock couldn’t stop watching her: sometimes the light made her look _so old_ , other times it took all her color away until she was just as faded as a billboard in the middle of nowhere and then she’d move a different way and it was like a scene in a mag. “How long we been here?” he asked, curious.

“Ahm…four days, perhaps? No, no, nearly five.” Yvette corrected. She took the lid off the stew--a concoction of a couple of scraped-out Saddle-Ups, carrots and tatos picked near the cabin, and water--to stir it. In truth it was not a bad stew, although a bit of good red wine and some onion would’ve done more to cut the fat from the Saddle-Ups, but it was the best she could manage. It was filling and _not_ Cram straight from the can.

“Shit.” Hancock breathed, turning to set his feet on the floor and rest his arms on his knees, get a little gentle stretch in. “Have you slept _at all_?”

“A bit? Here, there?” Yvette shrugged, unsure as to why he was asking such a thing. “I watched you. When you start to moan, I give the Med-X, check your bandage, put another stimpack in.” she shrugged again.

“’Vette, _Jesus_. Five days of that, what were you thinking?” Hancock demanded. “Probably a settlement nearby, you could’ve gone for help.” The look she shot him nearly knocked him over.

“You, bleeding, incoherent, _very close to dying_ , but ok _Jean_ yes I will just go walking for miles and leave you here too gone to defend yourself if someone were to come in.” Yvette glared at him. “You are a crazy, now eat this and stop being a worried fool.” she tipped some of the stew into the mug and set it on the coffee table, jamming the wooden spoon into it for him to use. “Besides, I have gone longer with less sleep--Shaun had colic. He cried…for _months_.”

Hancock took the cup slowly, sniffing it and taking a taste off the wooden spoon. It was a mash, probably scraped together from whatever they’d been carrying…but it was hot and no doubt she’d put it together with an eye for it being healthful. “Months, huh?” he said slowly, taking a small spoonful.

Yvette nodded. “You would not think a tiny, tiny baby could be so loud. But he could be so bad, our neighbors called the police on us more than once.” she snorted.

Hancock shook his head. “Fucking narcs.” he slurped the spoon. It didn’t hurt too bad going down; the bear had probably just gotten a chunk and missed the vitals, cracked a few ribs. One of those damn lucky moments he sometimes had. “Thought you were murdering him?”

Yvette snorted. “Or they hoped the police would arrest us for noise, I do not know. Once we were out of the apartment and into our house, it got a little better. He is a happy baby.” She froze as it dawned all over again that her happy baby was still in someone else’s arms.

“That’s in Sanctuary, right?” Hancock said quickly, catching the flick in her shoulders as she tensed.

“Oh, ahm, yes. _Martin’s_ parents wanted us to move closer to them, but we want for both of us to be our own parents, you know?” Yvette shook her head sharply to shake off the threat of tears.

Hancock held the spoon out to her. “Here; don’t think I can carry you if you keel over.”

Yvette snorted again, taking it and dipping it into the pot. “Do not even begin, you are _very_ heavy, _Jean_. Clearly it is all muscle on you.” she gestured with the spoon, spilling a little gravy onto the coffee table.

“So you noticed.” Hancock teased, tipping back with the mug to get the bottom of the stew in. He dragged his mouth along his arm to wipe it.

“More?” Yvette asked, showing him the pot. “There is plenty, I made it this morning.”

“Yeah, sure.” He didn’t really want it, hadn’t really felt like eating in the first place. But it gave them something to do; a meal to clear the air of the fear. “Load me up again; it ain’t half bad…is that where the bourbon went?”

Yvette rolled her eyes, tipping more into his mug. “No, the bourbon went into washing your wounds, the vodka into trying to clean up your clothing.”

Hancock frowned. “Yeah, where are my threads?” he looked around the room but the corners were dark; the lantern didn’t have much juice left to it.

“Boots are outside drying, your pants and your coat are in here, also drying. Your shirt, I am afraid, was…well it was in very bad shape. I did not throw it away,” Yvette said quickly, “but I do not think it is much salvage.”

He put a dent in the stew in his mug before saying anything; it wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to pull on old bloody clothes but it was never a great feeling. And Trixie was gonna have a _fit_ when he brought them to her; it was going to cost a lot of caps to save his look. “Well, I gotta couple back at the Old State.” Hancock finally said.

Yvette nodded. “We can leave when you feel you can try to walk. I am sure you are right and there is some settlement nearby, but we are off the road here. It was the first building with a roof and one door that I see, which is why we are here.”

“I owe you.” Hancock replied. “Not ditchin’ me, even though nobody would’ve blamed you.”

“Why would I leave you in a ditch? We travel together, we are friends.” Yvette scraped the last of the stew out of the pan, then got up. She held her hand out for Hancock’s mug.

“Not _literal_ \--” Hancock sighed, handing it over. “Never mind. Point is, thanks.”

She nodded, and smiled.

Hancock picked up the mug of water again. “I’m doing better. So we’ll get outta here, _after_ you catch a nap. Got it?”

Yvette sighed. “Fine. But if you are weak in your knees, we will stay another day. There are some wild vegetables behind this cabin, and we have water. We can manage at least another day or two.” she replied, firm.

Hancock held up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. You’re damn hard to argue with when you make that face.”

She couldn’t help the smile that broke across her face, equal parts the usual aggravation with Hancock’s cavalier attitude, relief at his continued health, acknowledgement of his teasing. “Think how miserable I could make you when I decide to _really_ argue.”

“I’d rather not, thanks.” Hancock said with a snort.

“Smart man.” she replied before turning away to go to the sink.

Hancock watched her nearly disappear into the shadows. He touched his side, skin tender but very much all there. It was kind of funny; lose a chunk and get it back with treatment, but it would still be tough and twisted. No way to get rid of the Ghoul nature, no matter how hurt you got. Hancock lifted his shirt to look down and realized that she’d used at least some of her spare clothes for bandages. They’d been _really_ unprepared to run into Raiders with a pet bear, apparently.

He touched the fabric lightly; it was a dumb, sweet move. She made a lot of those, and Hancock was slowly coming around to the idea that she might just _actually_ be that way. If she didn’t know how to shoot so damn well, Hancock thought, the Commonwealth would’ve eaten her alive already. He pulled the t-shirt back down and rubbed his face with his hands. “Hey, what do you say about winding our way back to Goodneighbor for a stay?”

“We can, yes.” She called back. “I need to restore my bag anyway.”

Hancock finished his water. Once they were back in the neighborhood, he’d throw a few caps her way to help her restock, as a ‘thank you’.

Yvette woke up to a jagged beam of sunlight across her face. The door to the cabin was open, and Hancock stood in it, holding up his coat. “ _Jean?”_ she called groggily, sitting up slowly and rubbing her face. Her head pounded; for all her trying to dismiss sitting up nursing for nearly a week straight as doable, she was without a doubt miserably tired.

Hancock turned back to look at her. The coat in his hands was _clean_ \--not just ‘clean enough’ but _clean_ \--there were patches all along the inside of it and the shoulder seam that had halfway split was now closed up neatly. “Did you do this?” he asked, stunned.

Yvette got to her feet groggily, still trying to wipe the sleep out of her eyes to see what he was talking about. “Do what?”

“ _This_.” Hancock held it up for her as she leaned on the door frame and yawned. He gave it a shake.

“I…yes?” Yvette flinched at the look on his face; it was intense, and impossible for her to describe. It was something like confusion and anger, and yet not malicious or lost. “…you are upset.” she said slowly.

Hancock look at her, and then the careful patches on the inside, the neater edges at the cuffs and the bottom, the way the buttons caught the light. “I…what did you _do_?”

“I…well it needed to be clean.” Yvette fumbled with the words. “There was much blood _Jean_ , but when I began to try and clean it, a button came off. Well I must sew it back, yes? But I clean, more threads come loose, and well this does not do. There was a flag over the little fireplace, and it was almost like the right red, so I…used it for patches.” she said slowly. “On the inside though, so it will not embarrass you.”

Hancock tried to clear his face; she was looking at him like she thought he was going to slug her, and that _wasn’t_ the case. He was just…well he was flabbergasted and finally understanding what the hell that word actually meant for the first time in his life. It was one thing for her to knock the blood off, but there was _so_ much more work done. She must’ve worked herself blind with that shitty lantern and wasted most of her thread on it! “Embarrass--Yvette-- _how_?”

She blinked. “ _Oh_ \--a little water, and Abraxo, and a toothbrush. There is a white spot inside, where I test--too wet and the color came off, I am sorry.” Yvette picked up the bottom of the coat to show him the finger-sized spot of nearly-white on the inside. Fortunately she had managed to get the cleaner off before it leeched color from the front. “Get the right dilution, then scrub and scrub and pat and dry and then look and then scrub more, dry more.” she shrugged.

“You sat there for four days with a toothbrush.” Hancock said flatly.

“Ahm…maybe more like two? The sewing took longer. I am not the very fastest with it, but my grandmother taught to me how to pull clothes together. She did not want anything to waste.” Yvette explained.

“Why?” Hancock asked, choking on the word a little.

“You are upset. I am _sorry_. I needed--it needed to be cleaned, because of the blood. And I needed…I needed something to keep awake for, to keep busy with, while I look over you.” Yvette started twisting her fingers, cracking her knuckles. “I am sorry, I did not think I was doing such a wrong thing, I only--” Hancock’s hand over her mouth cut off the rushed apology.

“One of these days, I’ll tell you how I picked up this look.” Hancock said. “Right now, all you need to know is that you doing this…it’s probably one of the nicest things anybody’s ever done for me. Right up there with free chems.” he added; in truth it was nicer than free chems, it was…well there wasn’t really anything in his life he _could_ compare it to. She’d put the kind of time and effort and supplies into the coat in his hands that some people didn’t even bother putting in to their own lives. And she’d done it _while_ watching over his ass and keeping him alive. Hancock had already felt pretty goddamn indebted to her just for that, for not leaving him to bleed out. From now on when he put it on, it wasn’t just the call for the people calling from every fiber of the coat…there’d be a warm Frenchy little purr and the kind of debt he’d never be able to pay back in a hundred years. Hancock slowly dropped his hand from her mouth. “Ok?”

“Oh…” Yvette sighed with relief. He was just shocked; she could understand that. “Well I am glad you are not angry.” she gave him a tired smile. “ _Votre chemisier est gâché; du sang et des vêtements blancs, vous saisez?”_

Hancock blinked. “You had me at the beginning but I got _no_ idea what you just said.”

Yvette frowned, then sighed. “I was not listening to me, apparently. I am sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s pack it in and get moving.” He said softly. “And beautiful?”

She looked up at him and made a soft noise of assent.

“Thanks.” Hancock said quietly. “A lot.” He watched her slink back inside to pack, still clutching his coat. He was _never_ going to be able to pay this back.


	2. The Gun

Hancock let out a low whistle. “Now _that_ is a mess I’m glad I don’t have to clean up.” he said as they came around the collapsed buildings to find a massive pit.

“Look, there is a crate on the truck at the bottom.” Yvette pointed. “Do you see?”

“Yeah…five caps says it’s just garbage.” Hancock replied as she moved a few steps ahead of him, closer to the edge of the pit.

Before Yvette could answer, the ground under her feet gave way. She let out a surprised whoop and made an ungainly slide down, stopping just short of the water at the bottom.

Hancock cackled. “Shit! ‘Vette, you ok?” He shouldn’t be laughing, but her yell and the way her arms had flapped as she slid were cartoonish and hilarious.

She flipped him the bird. “Stop laughing, you asshole!” Yvette shook her head, grinning at her own luck. “If you are wrong about the garbage, I want ten caps!” she called.

“If I’m wrong, I’ll pay you--” the rest of Hancock’s statement was cut off by a massive roar and an eruption of mud and garbage that pelted Yvette and nearly knocked her down. “ _Deathclaw_!” Hancock shrieked--not that he would _ever_ call it a shriek, but it was a shriek nonetheless.

Yvette tried to dance back from the charging beast but the ground was muddy and uneven; she skidded and slid, catching a glancing blow from the Deathclaw that sent her into the water. It was deeper than she’d expected it to be, and it _pulled_ at her! “ _Jean_!” she managed to get out before being pulled under.

“YVETTE!” Hancock bellowed, watching her go under and not come back up. He saw a bit of debris disappear the same way, watched it go under the water and then disappear. Maybe there was a hole in the hole. There was only one way to find out and a Deathclaw charging towards him. Hancock threw himself down the slide Yvette had inadvertently made with her fall, sliding past the Deathclaw close enough to smell it. He shook his head, pressing his hand against his nose hole and launching himself into the water.

It was _definitely_ a hole in the bottom of the hole, Hancock realized as he bobbed along a narrow passage and came up with a gasp in a rocky cave. There was nothing pulling on his feet, which made it a whole hell of a lot easier to get out. He huffed, trying to blow the water out of his sinuses, spitting more bracken out before he called out. “’Vette? Beautiful? C’mon, gimme a sign!”

There was a soft little cough ahead of him. “Here! I am here!” it sounded strained.

Hancock slipped on the rocky edge of the water trying to scramble quickly towards the sound. There were a couple of dead Radroaches nearby and a pile of bones, and a lot of blood. “ _Shit_.” he hissed, following the trail to find Yvette lying side ways, retching. He knelt by her, rubbing her back. “C’mon beautiful, get it out, that’s right, don’t wanna drown on land, that’d be fucking stupid.”

Yvette nodded, spitting out more water that tasted like stone and acid. “I am-- _Jean_ , my side.” she managed to get out.

Hancock moved her arm out of the way and peeled her shirt up; the water and the shirt’s dark color had done a job hiding how bad it was. There were three deep gashes on her side; he couldn’t see too deep inside but they were wide and there was a _lot_ of blood. “Bleeding pretty bad there, beautiful, I think you got nicked.”

“Fucking things.” Yvette started to shiver, which made every pain in her body that much worse.

“Ok, you’re gonna take a nap now.” Hancock said as he went into his jacket for the stash closest to his heart; the real emergency stuff. He pulled out a syringe of Med-X and popped her in the neck fast and a little mean, just to make sure the needle seated well. He’d apologize later, _after_ he was sure she pulled through.

Even if there had been time to protest, Yvette thought before everything went dark, she probably wouldn’t have. The fall down into the sinkhole, the Deathclaw backhand, being banged around an underwater tunnel and the Radroach nips all made for a very unpleasant waking experience.

Hancock only had a couple of stimpacks _on_ him; they would have to do until he got her dragged up and out of the hole. Hopefully they’d come up some place with a roof and a door they could hide in for a while. “Just hang on beautiful, it ain’t that bad.” he said more for himself than for her, because he didn’t want it to be _that bad_.

Finding a house with a chained door and barricaded stairs on top of the hole-within a hole-within a hole was the kind of dumb luck Hancock liked. He laid Yvette down on the couch and took a long thirty seconds to debate what to do. “Look, I know you’re out, but I’m just going to keep talking so that if _somehow_ you wake up, you won’t have the wrong idea.” Hancock still hesitated. “Ok, ok. Look this is nothing fun, and I’m not peeking.” he said as he undid her pants. “It couldn’t be any less sexy than it is right now, I _swear_!” He meant that too; she was a regular gal with a regular body, not a Ghoul. She wasn’t _supposed_ to take these kinds of beatings! Hancock took a deep breath to calm himself down. “You’re a handful, you know that? Two handfuls even.” He amended. Peeling wet clothes off a limp girl was not an easy task to do, especially when she was hurt and every little whimper punched him right in the gut. But Hancock managed; at least he didn’t have to try and figure out how to get her pack off her back while she was laid up on the couch--it was the sinkhole’s pack now. “Just keep breathing.” he muttered. “Just _keep_ breathing.”

Yvette woke with a start and a gasp that burned.

“Whoa, hey, _hey_ beautiful, calm down.” Hancock rushed over from his seat at the kitchen table. He put his hands on her shoulders to try and ease her back into lying down. “We’re ok; we’re inside a house, not a hole’s hole.”

Yvette pressed a hand to her side, over the stitch that burned. “What happened?” she pressed a hand to her forehead. “I remember a lot of falling, and water.”

“Do you remember getting winged by a Deathclaw?” he asked, coming around to perch on the very edge of the cushion.

“ _Fils de garce…”_ she muttered. “Is it very bad, _Jean_?”

“Well, your pack belongs to the water now, and you’re gonna have a few stripes to show off, but everything’s closed up and you’re not spitting blood.” He said grimly.

She nodded. “And you, you are ok?”

“Oh yeah, you cleared me a great slide down.” Hancock joked. “Took my ass right past the bitch.”

“I aim to be pleasing.” Yvette said drily. She rubbed her side, sliding a hand under her shirt to feel the new, knotted skin. “Hawthorne will _never_ believe me.” she took a deep breath. “Ok. A little nauseous, but--”

Hancock watched her face go from bemused and irritated to fully panicked. “What is it? You feel something? _Talk to me beautiful!”_

Yvette accidentally kneed him trying to sit up. “My gun, where is my gun?” she patted herself and the couch, looking around wildly.

He was afraid she was going to fall over or tear something open again. “’Vette, beautiful, _stop_ \--it’s on the kitchen table, you didn’t lose it, ok?”

She pushed him off the couch in a panic, wobbling and tottering across the space, grabbing the kitchen table to steady herself.

“Yvette what the _hell_?” Hancock demanded, getting up and following her. “I get it, it’s a nice cannon but _damn_.”

Yvette didn’t hear him. She sank into the kitchen chair, picking up the gun and turning it over in her hands. It was _so_ clean now; the barrel gleamed and she could make out decorative etching on the handle. She hadn’t ever noticed it before; before it had been so work and packed with grime that she’d taken it for smooth.

Hancock frowned. “Yvette. _Yvette_.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, c’mon, dial back in, would you? You’re freaking me out.”

Yvette startled, swallowing. “Did you do this?”

He nodded. “You picked up a lot of mud during all that. Didn’t want the works gummed up and I still got my pack, so…ya know, I had the time and the stuff.” He watched her run her fingers all over the gun, and turn it over in her hands. “You got something to share?” he asked.

Yvette looked up at him. “This is--it was Kellog’s gun.” she said softly.

“Kellog? The fuckhead merc that…?” Hancock trailed off.

She nodded. “I took it from him, after I…after he was dead. I mean to use it on everyone involved in taking my son, in…in forcing me to be a widow.”

Hancock knelt down, bracing his arm on the table and putting his hand on her thigh. She had looked so lost, and there was a strange sad note in her voice that was worryingly different. “Beautiful? What’s on your mind?” he asked softly.

“This gun…this gun has made so much unhappiness. In the hands of that man, this gun stole lives. Marriages. Caps, all sense of fairness.” Yvette swallowed. “It has had some crafter’s love put to it, made pretty, but it has been used to make _such_ evil.”

He didn’t really follow. “It ain’t the gun’s fault, beautiful. Can’t shoot without someone pulling the trigger, after all.”

“I know. I know, because now _I_ pull the trigger.” Yvette said quietly as tears welled up and burned her eyes. “I do not want to be a Kellog, _Jean_.”

It finally hit him then-- _really_ hit him--that she was actually ‘The Woman Out of Time’, just like Piper had written. He couldn’t imagine a time without Ghouls or caps, without always having a piece nearby just in case…and in that moment Hancock realized that she had never imagined a time _with_ all those things. But there she was, probably doing more shit she never imagined doing. Shit like that sent other people on mind-blowing binges just to clear the mind, and the most she ever did was a glass of wine; at least that he’d seen. She had, Hancock thought, probably just slammed face first into the limit. “Never had to shoot a man before this, huh?”

Yvette shook her head. “Never in my life before.” she whispered. Never before, but how many had she shot now? How many were dead in the name of finding Shaun? It seemed as if the only way to solve a problem anymore was to shoot it until it quit talking; she wasn’t _made_ for this. _Martin_ could have handled it, she thought, because he was a soldier. She was _not_.

Hancock reached up, lightly brushing her chin with the back of his hand. “Hey. Hey, look at me.” he said softly.

Yvette put the gun down and took a deep breath and at him, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Guys like Kellog _are assholes_. They think about caps, and themselves, and killing people, and they don’t fucking _cry_ over it. They don’t care enough _to_ cry.” he said firmly, reaching up to wipe away a couple of tears with his thumb. “You’re seeing shit and doing shit now you probably never thought you’d have to…and I’m real sorry about that. I am. But unless you go full psycho Raider, you _ain’t_ Kellog, alright? Not now and probably not _ever_ , as long as you stay _you_.” He wiped another couple of tears away and cupped her cheek. Hancock hadn’t touched her this much since he’d had to strip her and take care of the Deathclaw scratches. It was kind of nice.

Yvette took a deep breath. “Thank you for cleaning my gun.”

Hancock nodded. “I’m a sucker for poetic justice.” he teased softly.

Slowly, fearing rejection, Yvette turned more towards Hancock and leaned down to hug him.

He was not expecting to find himself with an armful of beautiful sad girl, but there were worse things to get hit with. “You’re just tired. Blood loss.” Hancock murmured, patting her back. “Get some food in you, some booze, you’ll feel better.” He felt her nod, but her grip was just as firm. Hancock sighed. “It’s ok beautiful. Take your time.” he conceded.

Yvette held onto Hancock for a long time. She needed to.

Fortunately for them both, he didn’t _absolutely_ hate it. In fact…he kind of liked it.


End file.
